


Bleeding Light

by stars_in_our_eyes



Category: The Darkest Minds Series - Alexandra Bracken
Genre: Canon characters? Never heard of her, Gen, Only like mentioning the president and his son, Well bitch there’s only OCs here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_in_our_eyes/pseuds/stars_in_our_eyes
Summary: Quinn Thompson never planned any of it. Not Thurmond, not escaping, and certainly not them.





	1. Origins

I was only ten when I went to Thurmond. It wasn’t my parents fault. Not my sister’s fault. The only person I could blame for it was me.

We were on the highway in the family van, on a road trip, and I was in the backseat. As soon as we got in, there was a faint buzzing noise in my head, growing louder and more powerful by the second. I didn’t know what was happening, so I clutched my armrest as tight as I could. The buzzing turned into an unpleasant tingling sensation overwhelming my small body. I shut my eyes, trying to breathe. I heard things shattering and smoking. 

When I opened my eyes again, the interior of the car had been ravaged. Sparks popped out of the broken lights, the air vents let out terrible-smelling smoke, and the dials were white-hot. My mom swerved the van into a ditch at the side of the road. She turned to me, her eyes wide with panic. 

“They’re coming...how will we explain _this_ to them?” She waved a hand at the wreckage, but seemed to be talking to herself more than anyone else. I knew what she meant by that: the soldiers in black uniforms with guns. Sure enough, two men in black uniforms came marching towards our van. My dad looked at me, just as terrified as my mom. 

“You have to run, Quinn,” he whispered, “you can’t let them get you. You have to go now.” I was so scared of the men approaching us, but even more of the idea of leaving my parents. 

“I—I can’t,” I breathed nervously. 

Mom looked at me, frowning, as she told me, “They will take you away. You have to run.” I started to cry. Little Izzy began to wail. 

“I’m not leaving you!” My dad handed me my backpack and some snacks. I saw there was no other choice, the men in black uniforms were getting closer and closer. I nodded shakily, hot tears still streaming down my face. I strung the backpack over my shoulders and dashed out of the other side of the van. 

One of the men shouted, “She’s escaping!” 

“Not for long,” I heard the other grunt. I quickened at that, afraid of what they would do. My lungs burned and my feet ached, but still I ran. I thought I was home free, when a pair of rough hands seized me. 

“You’re coming with us,” the man said. I screamed and cried and thrashed, but it made no difference. As they hauled me into the back of a truck, I caught a glimpse of my parents. They both had tears spilling down their cheeks and a heartbroken look in their eyes. That was the last I saw of them before Thurmond.  
•••  
I don’t remember much from the bus ride to Thurmond. Maybe my brain blocked it out, knowing it was too painful. They didn’t need to sort me; they’d seen what I’d done to the van. I was placed in my cabin of Yellows unceremoniously. I didn’t talk to them, and they didn’t talk to me. Every day I fought against the shackles that almost always restrained my hands. At Thurmond, I learned how to tune out the thrum of electricity, not because it was the perfect rehab center people thought, but because of what would happen if we didn’t. We all knew the PSFs wouldn’t hesitate to shoot us. We lived our lives in fear and despair. 

It was silly, but in the first year or so, I would write down all the stories my mom used to tell me at night. Stories in which the bad guys got what they deserved, and the good guys always got their happy endings. Anything to distract me from the harsh reality of life.


	2. The Escape

Despite all the danger, I started practicing my abilities when no one was looking. If I could just control it, maybe I could escape one day. I knew that was probably wishful thinking, but I was not giving up. I got in a lot of trouble because of my mouth and my temper. The PSFs were seemingly afraid of us, something I used to my advantage. For the most part, I was unscathed, both mentally and emotionally. But I still wore scars on my neck, my wrists, my arms. 

One day I was headed to get another beating, when all of a sudden two PSFs intercepted the ones dragging me. I kept my head down, but caught snippets of their conversation: 

“President...moving...dangerous...” 

“...serious?...fine..”

Another PSF grabbed me and lugged me along to a bus with faded yellow paint. 

Other kids sat on the bus, looking solemn and holding still. It was what we had to do, but for whatever reason, some of them looked like they were lying in wait, preparing for something. Whatever it was, I prayed not to get caught in the crossfire.

Our rickety old bus went down the long road at a slow pace and making creaking noises at random intervals. You could barely see a thing out the cracked windows, especially on today, which was a particularly foggy day. Not exactly the VIP treatment.

I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but all of a sudden the bus rocketed to a halt as the smell of smoke filled the air. I looked around wildly for the source, and some guy I recognized as another Yellow nodded slightly at me.

“Dammit!” The PSF driving the bus shouted, slamming her hand on the steering wheel. She got up and gestured for the other soldiers to grab us.

The last thing I saw before the incident was a girl making a tiny flame in her hand and signalling someone with it.

And then chaos erupted, as the bus started burning around us and we ran out. The PSFs were panting, and the girl snuck behind one, took his gun, and shot him in the chest with it. He fell forward, blood seeping from the wound.

The other kids joined in too, kicking their tormentors to the ground. I was guilty of it, too, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t just a little bit feel good releasing all of those years of pent-up anger.

Most of the PSFs were unconscious by now, and the kids were all separating and retreating into the woods, hoping to find their way home.

I had no fucking clue where my home was anymore. That didn’t matter now. I needed to find Izzy. She was a complete sweetheart—they’d be tearing her apart. I needed to find her before she was broken like me. She was only seven when they took me away. 

I didn’t know where to go. I just ran down the foggy road for miles and miles. I slowed my pace as I spotted something. Was that a car? I couldn’t drive, but it couldn’t be hard, and it would be much easier than walking all the time.

I slid the door open and hopped in. It was nice. A bit old, but it would do.

“Home sweet home,” I muttered, putting the dusty key in the ignition and slamming the pedal.


	3. Chapter 3

I drove for about an hour, narrowly avoiding crashing into the trees. Obviously I didn’t have a natural talent for this driving shit.

It was only after the car jerked to a halt in the empty parking lot of a mall when someone sat up in the backseat, groaning and rubbing their head. 

I whirled around and concentrated on my powers, ready to release the crackling electricity buzzing inside me at any minute.

The stranger put her hands up. 

“I’m Heather. Blue. This was my car you took.” 

“Quinn. Yellow. Needed a getaway vehicle.” 

“I can respect that,” Heather said, bobbing her head up and down.

“So this is _her_ car,” I grumbled to myself under my breath in annoyance. Just great, my new home was already occupied.

Heather shook her—his?—head in the mirror.

“They, actually.”

“Oh, sorry,” I apologized sheepishly.

“Hey, it happens a lot, don’t worry.” They cleared their throat. “So, you escaped a camp, right?” I nodded.

“Which camp?” Heather asked, dark eyes shining with curiosity.

“Thurmond,” I murmured, turning forward again and watching the blinking signs.

“Thurmond? How the hell did you escape Thurmond?”

“Hell if I know.” Visions poured through my mind, memories of fire and dark blood splashing on the ground. I tasted vomit in the back of my mouth.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m out of there now,” I said, trying to keep my trembling voice even. 

“Jesus Christ,” they spoke, running their fingers through their hair. “Thurmond is like, a fucking nightmare, from what I heard. Is it true you were experimented on?” They leaned forward eagerly.

“No, of course not, just—,” I went silent as I remembered the White Noise, the painful buzzing over the loudspeakers. I turned back to Heather. 

“Did.. did your camp have White Noise?” I asked quietly.

“What?” Heather said, scrunching their face up in response.

_Oh God._ “You know, the thing only Psis can hear?”

“The what?” they nearly screeched. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, it really is a Frankencamp!”

I gripped the wheel so tight my knuckles went white. “I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

They nodded. “Okay.”  
A few seconds later, Heather’s stomach rumbled audibly. They looked up sheepishly. “I think I’d like some food.”

“Sounds good,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and jumping up to lend them a hand.

We entered the mall.

It was just another small, abandoned mall with faded neon signs. It looked as if no one had been here for years. I spotted a store with clothes. I could finally change out of this baggy old green jumpsuit.

I grabbed a graphic t-shirt that read simply, _Fuck You_ , and a pair of jeans and dashed into the dressing room. I almost even looked like a normal teenager, I noticed as I looked at myself in the mirror, or at least what I thought a normal teenager would look like. 

Come to think of it, I wasn’t even sure of my exact age. I didn’t even know what fucking year it was. No one kept track of ages in Thurmond, because what was the point?

“You done in there, dude?” Heather called from outside. They had just grabbed a couple of new shirts and a skirt.

“Yeah,” I called back. I cringed at the loud crashing noise that responded. Hopefully that was just them making their way to the food court.

I pulled the faded curtain back and left the dressing room. I grabbed some more clothes and went to the food court. Something was off, though. It was much too silent, even for a dilapidated old mall.

Footsteps pounded on the floor. It sounded like they were coming towards me. 

Heather dashed in and hid behind an overturned table, panting.

A blonde woman and a redheaded man stormed in, brandishing shiny guns and looking around wildly for something. Or someone.

“Who the fuck—“ I started to say.

“They’re skip tracers, get down!” Heather hissed, pulling me down behind the table.

“They’re what? Are you okay?” 

Heather nodded, but I could see the blood pouring out of their nose and staining their knuckles.

“Let’s get out of here and I’ll explain in the car.”


End file.
